


Vice

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 21:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10474707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Galion satisfies all of Thranduil’s favourite sins.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hauntedpoem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for hauntedpoem’s “Thralion? Would you ever write something domestic and fluffy and obviously hot?” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He calls, “Come in,” and the door clicks open. Galion strolls inside, bottle at the ready, to set it on the side table. Sprawled about his couch and ready for the night, Thranduil watches Galion’s hesitation as he places a single glass beside it. 

With a deep bow to his king, Galion turns to leave, but Thranduil drawls, “Come here.” Galion’s breath hitches instantly. His expression doesn’t change—his face reveals nothing. But Thranduil knows him well. And Thranduil knows what an invitation into his quarters means to any elf within his kingdom.

Galion strolls forward with both ease and anticipation—he isn’t so nervous as the younger elves that Thranduil lets linger around him, but the awe is still there; Galion knows he’s been given a blessing. He comes to stand beside the couch, and Thranduil reaches for his wrist, giving it a little tug. Galion falls forward, right into his lap, thighs already spreading and knees scooting closer—he knows the right position. He’s still crisply done up in his dutiful attire. Thranduil’s robes are tugged half open down his chest, his crown already retired. It’s been a long day, and the night might prove longer. 

Thranduil purrs, “I have another thirst for you to quench,” and Galion arches forward accordingly. He flattens his front along Thranduil’s, his hands resting firmly on Thranduil’s broad shoulders. His brown hair cascades evenly down his back and catches as Thranduil lifts one hand to stroke through it—he’s had Galion for _centuries_ , and he’s still yet to tire of pulling Galion’s hair.

Galion gasps at each light tug and grinds his hips along his king’s. His bulge is evident, shamelessly hard and warm, his thighs tense to hold his crotch against Thranduil’s. Thranduil grunts in approval and tucks his free hand beneath Galion’s chin, drawing him forward for a kiss.

Galion is wine-sullied, as usual, but that’s part of why Thranduil enjoys him most; he tastes of both Thranduil’s favourite things: liquor and _elves_. He kisses Thranduil back with a half-starved enthusiasm, as though it’s been far too long since their last joining, rather than only two nights ago. He opens his mouth wide to suck Thranduil in and wraps around Thranduil’s tongue, stroking it and moaning low. The sound is music to Thranduil’s ears. Galion could’ve been a minstrel, perhaps, if he could keep himself sober through practice, and if Thranduil weren’t always tugging him away at the slightest inclination. Galion’s proved a loyal servant—he’s always ready when Thranduil wants him. And he seems to _always_ want Thranduil in return. He kisses with needy desperation and clings to Thranduil’s robes, tugging them all the wider apart.

At first, it’s only that: fierce kissing and the rest of them flushed tight together. But Galion is a raunchy heathen under his proper countenance, and Thranduil’s no better behind closed doors. He makes his way from Galion’s throat to holds his hips, his waist, drawing him in—Galion writhes to comply. He thrusts his hips forward, drags his crotch along Thranduil’s, rocks back again and repeats. He rides Thranduil in a steady rhythm, grinding to the beat of their heated kiss, and devolves into humping Thranduil with utter abandon. Intoxicated from more than just the remnants of wine slicked around Galion’s tongue, Thranduil joins him, thrusting up to meet him. They meld together in a sensuous dance of ever-moving hips and roaming hands. 

It’s easy to play Galion to the edge. He’s learned nothing in his maturity; he’ll come for Thranduil at the drop of a stone. When Thranduil feels it’s near, he diverts to nip the edge of Galion’s mouth, then trail down his strong jaw—Galion moans all the louder and tosses back his head. His hips never stop moving. Thranduil runs blunt teeth down the long slope of his neck and purrs, “You are amenable, I take it?”

Galion wails when Thranduil bites him. It’s a shallow thing, placed strategically against his collarbone, beneath where robes will hide, but Galion’s hands jump to Thranduil’s hair nonetheless, fisting and holding on. Thranduil licks idly across the bruise he’s made while Galion groans breathlessly, “I am... always pleased to... serve my king...”

Another bite, this time right at his throat, and Galion stops to cry out, Thranduil pressing: “Why?”

Galion can only moan. It takes him several minutes to lick his lips and manage, “You are the most... handsome and talented in... in all of Middle Earth!”

“You would limit me so?” Thranduil chuckles. He grazes back up along Galion’s jaw to nip at the shell of Galion’s ear, then suck it between his teeth. He smoothes his hands around Galion’s taut rear and squeezes _hard_ , cruelly holding Galion back from grinding them together any further. Thranduil’s robes have become impossibly tight, his erection straining against their folds, but Galion is closer. He trembles in Thranduil’s grasp, clearly on the edge of dampening his clothes. Thranduil diverts him with supple demands. “You think there is better in the West?”

“I cannot imagine it,” Galion all but whimpers. He squirms in Thranduil’s grip, but he doesn’t force himself free. He’s older than Thranduil but half the warrior, and Thranduil outranks him, outmatches him, in every way. He seems to have no trouble with that.

Thranduil laves his tongue across the back of Galion’s ear and chuckles, “You drown yourself in a river of intoxicated sin already, my old friend. Why fear blasphemy now?”

Galion hisses as Thranduil bites the tip of one ear, “You are right. You are greater than the Valar themselves.”

Grinning fondly, Thranduil purrs, “Yes,” and returns to kiss Galion’s mouth. Galion surges forward for a taste of tongue, but Thranduil pulls away, knowing he can’t spare such passion, lest he be forced to wait through the refraction. He gives Galion’s chest a little shove, and Galion, looking suddenly crestfallen, steps back off Thranduil’s lap. Thranduil threads their fingers together and announces, “We should continue this in bed.”

Eyes alight again, Galion nods. Thranduil guides him across the grand chamber, stopping only once to return and fetch the wine.


End file.
